Part 1 (1/2)
The Strife of the Roses and Days of the Tudors in the West.
by William Henry Hamilton Rogers.
PREFACE
The subjects described in the following pages, have been chosen from among the almost unlimited number that present themselves to notice, during the stirring periods in which they are included, as they appeared to lend interest and variety of incident, ill.u.s.trative of the days wherein they occurred. The concluding paper--not originally written for this series--extends into the era of the early Stuart, and has claimed admission from the comparatively unique features of its history.
W. H. H. R.
”THE MIDDLE AGES HAD THEIR WARS AND AGONIES, BUT ALSO INTENSE DELIGHTS. THEIR GOLD WAS DASHED WITH BLOOD; BUT OURS IS SPRINKLED WITH DUST. THEIR LIFE WAS INWOVE WITH WHITE AND PURPLE, OURS IS ONE SEAMLESS STUFF OF BROWN.”
_John Ruskin._
”OUR STEWARD OF HOUSEHOLD.”
At somewhat more than halfway distance between Weymouth on the skirt of the Atlantic, and the good old city of Bristow by the Severn sea, on the thin iron line that crosses the wide end of the western peninsula between those places,--and which in the early days of railway enterprise was cleverly, but of course futilely, stretched as a boom, designed to 'block' all further extension westward,--and just inside the county of Wilts, lies the quiet little town of Westbury.
The station itself is somewhat ”larger and more commodious” than common. A two-fold reason accounts for this, one, that of its being the junction of another line that departs hence for Salisbury, and secondly the nature of the industry that meets the eye from the platform, and is in its way unique in these parts. This is the appearance of three towering iron furnaces, with attendant rows of c.o.ke ovens, placed on an eminence just outside the station yard; busily smelting the iron-stone that is quarried from a large excavation on the opposite side of the line, and which pa.s.ses under the railway proper in mimic trains, pulled by a tiny locomotive up to the great glowing bastions, there to be speedily devoured and purified into 'pigs' of the best quality.
A very English sight indeed you will say. Yes, certainly if we were in some of the northern localities of this mineral-saturated island of ours, but strange in its isolated appearance among the bucolic characteristics of the southern portion of it, and moreover here, at least, a development in its way peculiarly modern. The antient 'staple' of the district is the very primeval one of the manufacture of woolen cloth, which has existed for centuries, is still considerably followed, and enjoys all its olden reputation as being 'West of England,' a pa.s.s-word for excellence and purity of fabric, untainted by the admixture of 'shoddy,' characteristic of north-country production. Westbury in company with her sister towns is largely interested in the industry.
Our wandering to-day is not in quest of manufactured products iron or woolen, but of a nature that lends a clue to our thoughts which takes us back to the far past strife of the Red and White Roses, and era of Bosworth, and of the heart-burning that inspired the distich,
”The Rat, the Cat, and Lovell our Dog, Rule all England under the Hog,”
for the writing of which and presumed sympathy with the Red Rose, be it remembered, a Wilts.h.i.+re knight, Sir William Collingbourn of Lydiard by name, was by the vindictive Richard ”caused to be abbreviated shorter by the head, and to be divided into four quarters,”--and to search for traces of one of the princ.i.p.al actors, who played a conspicuous part in the turmoil, for he was probably born, or had his original habitation close by. Yonder is the town of Westbury with its factory chimneys and ma.s.sive church tower in their midst,--below us the busy railway-station, and immense iron-stone quarry,--in front the great furnaces. Nothing very suggestive in all this as to our expedition to find the old home of Willoughby in these parts; he of the famed circle of the Garter, and first Baron by a name taken from the little rill of Brooke or Broke, that, outlasting his name and fame, still flows past the house that he occupied while in the flesh.
Yet it cannot be very far off.
These are our thoughts as we look from the parapet of the bridge that carries the highway over the railroad below, our steps lead us northward, and although our local geography ends here, our usual luck for further guidance is at hand. An old stone-breaker by the wayside stays his hammer as we pa.s.s, to give us the morning's salutation, and to our respond we add the interrogatory as to our path to an old house or place called Brooke or Broke, somewhere near. ”Brooke-_Hall_ you mean” said he, with special emphasis on the affix, ”I know it well, follow on for nearly a mile until the road leads into the brook; then turn into the gate on your right, go through two meadows and you will see Brooke Hall before you. It is an old antient place, and I have heard was a grand one once, but it is only a farm-house now.”
With due thanks to, and musing on the inextinguishable influence of tradition, thus continued and wove into the life of our humble but intelligent informant, we saunter along, until the rippling sound of water attracts us on our left. Mounting the low ledge that bounds our path on its other side, at our feet in the enclosure below (locally termed the Bisse) the Brooke or Broke sparkles along gaily as ever, and apparently as undiminished as when four centuries a-past, the knight, whose memories we are in search of, forded its flow. A little farther beyond, and the lane we have been traversing descends abruptly into its bed, which forms a continuance of the thoroughfare for a short distance. Our path diverges through the gate on the right, and into the green fields.
Here, at once, although much ameliorated to the wants of the modern farmer, the undulating nature of the ground, the richness of the turf, and scattered stately trees still lingering about to attest its olden beauty and importance, we recognize unerringly the well known characteristics of an antient park, but apparently not of large size.
Traces of a winding road lead on from the lane gate, and stretch away over a swarded knoll, on the right; with pleasurable steps we reach the summit of the acclivity, and descry at about another field's s.p.a.ce ahead, the still existing remains of the Brooke Hall of our trusty informant.
”A grand place once”--we ruminate, recalling the words of the old stone-breaker, as we halt under the shadow of a tall, ma.s.sive gable, b.u.t.tressed at the angles like a church, and with the original hip-knop a trefoil on a stalk, still very perfect, and bravely weathering the suns.h.i.+ne and breeze at its apex. From this gable stretches back a building ninety feet long with high-pitched roof, and forms one side of the farm-court. Its further end is joined to a cross-structure of smaller size, now used as the farm dwelling-house.
Cautiously we push open the large doors of the cow-court and look inside. This, from no dread of meeting, and having our intruding footsteps ordered off by the antient knight who once possessed it, but rather from the undesirableness of making too sudden acquaintances.h.i.+p with the vigilant curly-tailed custodian of its precincts eyeing us from within, and who may not, until properly a.s.sured to the contrary, be quite satisfied with the object of our investigation; but a kindly word of advice to him, and of welcome to us, from his master close by, speedily puts everything at ease, and with full permission for inspection.
Before however we proceed to investigate the old place, we mentally join company with the famous old itinerant Leland, who came here on a similar errand, and recall the burthen of his description, when it was in pristine condition, and still in possession of the Willoughbys.
”There was of very aunciente tyme an olde maner place wher _Brooke Hall_ is now, and parte of it yet appearithe, but the buyldynge that is there is of the erectynge of the Lorde Stewarde unto Kynge Henry the vii. The wyndowes be full of rudders.
Peradventure it was his badge or token of the Amiraltye. There is a fayre Parke, but no great large thynge. In it be a great nombar of very fair and fyne greyned okes apt to sele howses.
”The broke that renithe by _Brooke_ is properly caulyd _Bisse_, and risethe at a place namyd _Bismouth_, a two myles above _Brooke_ village, an hamlet longynge to _Westbyry_ paroche. Thens it c.u.mmithe onto _Brooke_ village, and so a myle lower onto _Brooke Haule_, levinge it hard on the right ripe, and about a two miles lower it goith to _Trougbridge_, and then into _Avon_.”